


After the Canvas

by AlkonostStorm



Category: Saint Seiya
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-06-28 23:25:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15717234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlkonostStorm/pseuds/AlkonostStorm
Summary: Alt. title: After the Canvas, Before the Eclipse. The Holy War is over but now Shion has to focus on rebuilding and learning to embrace his new mantle, Pope of Sanctuary. Set between TLC and Original Series.





	1. Prologue

**A/N: To make a long story short, I've decided to dust off an old fic and rewrite it completely to get back into writing (more) after a long af hiatus because of life and personal issues and etc. The premise is still the same as the original, just taking into account what I have finally seen of The Lost Canvas and Hades Chapter along with the original show. I'd accommodate for stuff like Omega except that's in a parallel timeline according to Word of God, and can't really account for Soul of Gold either because that has zilch to do with the central character. That said, I haven't finished The Lost Canvas so this story will not account for everything that happens in it. Episode G and Episode G:Assassin are off the table as well due to not having read them. Anyway, without further ado, enjoy the fic!**

* * *

 

The sky was clear that evening, a waxing moon and the stars shining high above him. There were better views in high, open places but the wizened man in black robes stays put, gazing at the sky, through the sky. A light breeze picks up, swirling playfully about his robes and making the beads around his neck swing, the colored glass lightly thumping against his chest.

Soon, it would be time to go. But for now, Shion remains, enjoying the quiet, the night breeze, and darkened sky.

“You’re surprisingly calm for someone who knowingly walks to their demise,” a voice whispers in the darkness, or perhaps his mind? The tone is factual, detached… For a brief instance, he thinks he feels the ghost of an embrace encircling from behind, then it is gone.

“I’ve come to terms with it all. My life, my actions… I’ve done all I can for this place and its people. My mistakes, my oversights… I am content.”

Shion can imagine the speaker nodding in understanding, perhaps circling about to stand in front of him. Recently, his silhouette, at one point felt but unseen, was becoming clearer to his eyes. Whether that was due to the encroaching end or something else, the old Pope didn’t know.

“What of those you’re leaving behind? The only sign they will have of your passing is your cosmos snuffed out like a flame slowly smothered by the melted wax around it. And then of course, the matter of your body…”

He feels a hand on his shoulder, and the touch feels strangely comforting. Looking down from the sky, he thinks he espies a beautiful face, the features enhanced by the silver eyes and matching mane, a faint shine cast over it reminiscent of stardust.

“You’ll probably be left where you fall on the ground, with no limestone sarcophagus or grave coin in your mouth. Not even an unmarked grave for Your Holiness.” The hand lifts from his shoulder, and the ghostly silhouette takes a step back.

“You will be trapped on the shores of the Styx for a long time, perhaps even forever.” It shouldn’t surprise him to hear the note of pity in the voice by now but it seems some reactions were set in stone. Then again, these were words he never expected to hear from someone he regarded as enemy.

“I would have thought such circumstances would amuse you and your masters, to take delight at my expense and that of many other fallen saints with unmarked graves. Your side and mine are fated to fight again, after all.”

A brief pause as he considers the unasked question with the voiced one.

“If that is my body’s fate, then nothing else can be done. As for the rest… I’m certain they will continue on. They will grieve and lament but ultimately settle back into the familiar patterns of their lives. I’m certain that my old friend will weather the process. As for my student…” He trails off, thinking of the boy.

Mu would survive. In silence, he would grieve for the father and mentor he lost but he would continue his training, both as gold saint and Cloth Mender. Should trouble come for him, Shion knew it wouldn’t catch the boy unawares. And yet…

 _He will have to grow up faster than he already has_ , was the prevailing thought in his mind. Despite every logical argument he made, the sadness of realization lingered. But then, even with efforts to keep some distance in their relationship as teacher and student, he had slowly come to view Mu as a son, adding an emotional burden that neither of them probably needed. Mu likely shared in that burden as well.

He would have continued on this train of thought if not for Thanatos cutting through the track;

“I suppose it would be expected of me and mine to take pleasure in the deaths of Athena and her saints. Even so, I will admit the pity I feel for your situation is genuine, former gold saint Aries Shion. You will die, and the truth will be buried with you. And what about your goddess? I can’t imagine Sanctuary will be safe with you gone--”

“Enough. I’m heading for Star Hill. Are you coming along to keep me company on my last trip or not?” He asks as he moves past the ghostly silhouette, the tone clad in the vestiges of power that he would soon lose.

Thanatos takes the hint, and backs away, his voice dropping to a lover’s whisper as he fades with the dying wind,

“I will see you soon, Shion.”

* * *

 He steals away from the Papal Palace during the guard shift, figuring this to be his only chance to reach Star Hill before anyone presses him to bring along an escort. That hurdle is cleared and now he simply has to descend the mountain through the Road of Helios. However, another problem soon presents itself:

The Gold Saints. A few among them would certainly be keeping up late hours of vigil. They wouldn’t stop him from passing through but Shion was concerned they’d start asking questions he couldn’t answer. He decides to take the chance in the end, outfitting himself with the ceremonial mask and helm of his office before starting his descent in earnest. He would need it for the rose garden, after all.

In hindsight, there were a dozen other ways he could have reached Star Hill without crossing through the Houses but this… This felt right, somehow. One last walk through Sanctuary, his Sanctuary, which he had rebuilt and fortified and improved for the Holy War to come. His robes rustle as they brush past roses, his footfalls eventually crossing into the threshold of Pisces House.

He walks on, focusing his psychic powers on himself, to better cloak his presence from the House’s guardian. A beautiful youth, recently ascended into his role. He would be able to fool this one, and perhaps the next set of gold saints before him. If he is detected…

 _Alea iacta est_ , he thinks, resolve rooting firmly in his heart. The descent resumes, and for the most part he is unchallenged by the Gold Saints, though whether that is because they can’t sense him due to his cloaked presence or because they don’t perceive a threat is unknown to him.

He moves through the Houses unchallenged, until he reaches the Seventh House of Sagittarius.

“Who’s there?” The voice cracking halfway through the question lessens the intimidation the owner was going for but he recognizes the voice of Sagittarius Aiolos all the same. Shrugging off the glamour as though it was simply another layer of clothing, he steps further into the temple.

“My apologies, Aiolos. I was simply passing through.”

The boy stops short as he sees the Pope seemingly appear out of nowhere, confusion in his gaze. “Your Holiness, as the Pope you can cross through the Twelve Houses without fear. Why are you…?” The question trails off into silence as Aiolos remembers who he is addressing.

The expected reprimand never comes, Shion instead moving closer to him.

“I’d rather make my way to Star Hill without an escort at this time. The quiet helps me focus my thoughts.”

“A-ah, I see. I understand, Your Holiness.” He shifts to step aside but something stops him. “Your Holiness? May we speak plainly for a little before you go on?”

Shion considers the question, looking at him through the masked helmet for a few seconds before reaching up and pulling it off of his head, revealing a wrinkled face and a mane of hair the color of withered grass, though every day it was growing whiter. “I’m listening.”

“Are you certain about this choice? Making me your successor, that is.”

“You doubt yourself?”

“I simply wonder if I’m up to it. Up to leading the Sanctuary when war inevitably comes knocking.”

Shion doesn’t answer at first, pondering over the answer he would give. Finally, he speaks;

“I became Pope at the end of the last Holy War. In a lot of ways, I wasn’t prepared for the role: I had no one to help groom me into it, nor any advisors at the beginning. But I powered through; you could even say I had no other choice. And just like wartime, peace comes with its own challenges.”

He pauses, considering what else to say, fingernails lightly tapping against the metal surface of the helmet in his hands.

“In the end, at least you’ll have some help: I will guide you to the seat of ruling, and you will have Saga to help you out with advice or whatever form of assistance you may need. In the meantime, simply keep to the spirit of our laws: to rule with justice and fairness, to treat all equally under it whether they be Bronze, Silver, Gold or even simply one of the lay people living here. The optimal way to employ your subordinates is to have them work where they’re best at. I’d say more but I think that’s all the advice I can give you right now, Aiolos; your experiences as Pope will be very different from mine.”

To his credit, the boy was listening intently, the determined light in his eyes indicative of his willingness to soak these words into his being like a sponge. After a moment of silence, he breaks it,

“I will do my best to live up to your vote of confidence, Your Holiness. From simply learning to be Pope to whatever else it requires. I swear it on--”

Shion holds up a hand, cutting him off. “Your words and the emotions in them ring true enough, Aiolos. Such an oath isn’t needed here.” He lifts his arms to place the masked helmet on his head, covering his face again, leaving Aiolos to puzzle out how he manages to stuff all that hair so neatly into the confined space.

“If that is all, I will be going now,” he declares as he looks to the Sagittarius saint. The younger man quickly salutes and steps to the side to let him through. “Enjoy the rest of your night, Holiness.” In response, Shion simply nods and resumes his descent, his form fading from sight to blend in with the shadows and low lighting as he employs his glamour again.

* * *

He’s barely stepped onto the threshold of Gemini House when he feels it, the Labyrinth of the Twins tugging at the edges of his mind to draw him into its world of light and shadows. Exercising his will against the labyrinth’s power, Shion steps inside the temple, intent on continuing the descent. Briefly, there is the regret that he never found the time or opportunity to try and study this ancient magic but he shakes it off.

The temple feels a bit off tonight, if only because of how he can only sense the one cosmos where there once was two. It’s a blindspot that frustrates Shion, as barely even whispers of the boy’s disappearance reached the Papal Palace. It spells trouble; someone is in a favorable position to control the flow of information, it could even be one from his inner circle.

If ever there was a time to get the answers he needed regarding Kanon’s disappearance, it is now. The thought only just forms in his mind when he is suddenly challenged.

“You are up late, Your Holiness,” comes the voice of Gemini Saga, somewhat distorted as it filters through the metal of the helmet.

“So I am.” Pause. “Do you object to it, Saga?”

“I am certain whatever business keeping you from sleep is indubitably important to matters of state in Sanctuary, Your Holiness.” A courtier’s answer, neatly evading the question and any potential traps therein. But then, Saga learned well from observing how those in non-combatant roles operated in the higher levels of sanctuary. It is to be expected.

“Indeed. Still, there is something troubling me, and I hope you can assuage those concerns, however you can.”

“I will do what I can, Your Holiness. What’s wrong?”

Shion stops beating around the bush. “Your brother. I’ve only heard the barest rumors of him disappearing. Supposedly he deserted but we would have picked up on him leaving if that were the case. I would hear the truth from you, Saga.”

He can’t see the boy’s expression too well, obscured by the shadows and the helmet of Gemini Cloth. Even so, he thinks he sees him stiffen, drawing himself up tightly before releasing as the mask of composure reasserts itself.

“He wanted to incite treason, and tried to pull me into his schemes. I took initiative and locked him up in the dungeon in Cape Sounio for his crimes.”

The pieces fall into place as he listens. Being imprisoned in Cape Sounio would do it, particularly since Athena’s cosmos mingled with Poseidon’s there, smothering and effectively cloaking the presence of any cosmos that was not divine. That was not the issue.

“We have systems in place to deal with this, Saga. You could have brought the matter to me, and Kanon’s punishment would have been settled with a trial.” Never mind that the outcome would have likely been Cape Sounio, anyway. Unless the appointed jury voted for a swift execution instead--

Details.

“Explain your reasoning for bypassing the law.”

The Gemini Saint seems to hesitate, considering how best to answer. It does not take long for him to offer one:

“I felt it was best keeping such a matter away from the public view, nor did I want to chance the risk of him spreading his ideas to others since he failed to win me over.”

Pause.

“Finally, he’s my brother, Your Holiness. I felt I had to take responsibility for his actions and act accordingly.”

All the reasons are sound ones, and yet…

“You took the law into your own hands, being your brother’s judge, jury and executioner. I will not overturn the decision to imprison Kanon but you will be disciplined for it. You may have risen high in my inner circle Saga but it does not exempt you from punishment. Are we clear on this?”

The pause in conversation is drawn out a bit more but eventually, the Gemini saint bows his head in acknowledgment.

“Clearer than glass, Your Holiness.”

Shion nods and resumes his walk, moving past him. Just when Saga thinks that’s the end of it, Shion’s voice cuts in again,

“We will discuss this further in the morning. For now, just keep your watch.”

“Understood, Your Holiness.”

* * *

The mask hides his face but a slow dread is simmering deep within him as he crosses into Aries House. Out of all the possible encounters along the Road of Helios, this was the one he was dreading the most. Shion hadn’t lied to Thanatos when he told him he had come to terms with his encroaching death and how he had lived his life up to this point.

But some things were easier said than done.

He doesn’t even have time to steel himself for the encounter ahead when it is upon him--

“Master, why are you up so late? You...You need your rest,” a child’s voice pipes up at him from below. There is silence at first, then the boy hears a soft chuckle echoing out from the helmeted mask covering Shion’s face.

“And what of you? You shouldn’t be keeping up such late hours yourself, Mu.”

“...I can’t sleep.”

A breeze picks up then, playing with the hem of Shion’s robes and Mu’s tunic, making the fabric ripple across their bodies while it gifted them with a brief respite of cool air in an otherwise stifling night. Shion raises his hands, removing the helmet and tucking it under his arm. He thinks he can hear his bones creak in his body as he takes a seat on the base of an incomplete column. Presumably it had been meant for another building but had been forgotten, being repurposed as an improvised seat in Aries House.

“Is it a nightmare?” Shion asks as he gestures for the boy to join him.

The child Aries Saint takes a seat beside the former, looking to the stardusted skies above them in silence for a moment or two before he answers.

“No nightmare. The feeling is very similar though.”

A tale Shion knew well, having experienced it more than once throughout his long life. “The ghost of a sting, or pinprick, perhaps?”

“Y-yes, that’s it! And whenever I try to trace the source--”

“Gone, only to appear elsewhere.” Shion finishes for him as he moves the helmet from under his arm to his lap. Silence hangs between them, heavier than stone. After a while, Mu breaks through;

“Something’s happening, isn’t it.”

“...Yes, and it will envelop the whole of Sanctuary. I suppose my only regret regarding that is that I won’t be able to prevent it, even if I had the time or strength to do so.”

Hearing his master speak with such finality jarrs the boy, and the feeling that had been troubling him throughout the night comes back. Instead of stings, it’s a volley and through the anguish, he thinks he understands why Shion is out at this hour and in Aries House with him.

Shion, lost in his own thoughts, is suddenly jostled out of them by the warmth of a small body pressing against his own, arms encircling him in the tightest hug they can manage at their current length and size. He looks over to Mu, pride and regret overflowing him as he sees that the boy is trying to hold back tears.

In an ideal world, it wouldn’t be like this. But then, an ideal world would have no need of Gods or the Holy Warriors serving them. In such a world, perhaps…

There is little point dwelling in what-ifs and maybes at this time. Briefly, Shion wonders if he ever had that luxury at any point in his life.

“Is there nothing I can do to help you, Master? Am I just not... ”

A gnarled, wrinkled hand lights upon Mu’s head, the sensation of having his hair ruffled and stroked comforting and familiar. It also has the effect of interrupting the last question, which is what Shion intended.

“You’ll grow into your power and the Cloth with you. It will take time, there will be struggles but it will happen… You’ve more than proven yourself as my successor to Aries, Mu. I’m confident--no, I _know_ you will weather the storm that’s coming.” He doesn’t say what they’re both thinking, that Mu has no other choice but to weather it, and survive. Still, given how tightly the boy holds on to him, he shouldn’t let it end on that note.

“Mu.”

The young Aries Saint lifts his head, doing an admirable effort of pulling himself together and wiping any emotion from his face. It’s not perfect: Shion can still see the turmoil in his eyes but he overlooks that.

“Are you listening? This is important.”

“Yes.”

“After tonight, things will start to change in Sanctuary. It won’t be sudden or obvious, but it will happen, like rot growing inside a fruit. If you feel that Sanctuary has become a trap, seek her out.” He states as he locks eyes with the boy.

Mu blinks in surprise. There is only one ‘her’ his master could be talking about.

“Alanna? But isn’t she--”

“She is.”

“Haven’t you always told me never to trust them completely?”

“I have.”

 _So what separates Alanna from all the others_ , is the unasked question lingering thickly between them.

“I’ve known her since forever, back when I was still young and only starting out as Pope. She’s proved a valuable ally when I least expected it, and a treasured companion throughout my life.” Pause. “You can count on her for whenever you need a back door out of Sanctuary.” The possibility that he might not be able to trust anyone on the inside goes unsaid.

“And of course, you know where to go if you leave.”

“R-right.” He gets it but it’s still a little jarring to hear that things could get worse than they were. Even so, he won’t let his nerves get the better of him. He pulls away from Shion, drawing himself to full height. It’s not an impressive sight right now but then, he is only seven years old.“I’ll take your words to heart, Master Shion. And… goodbye.”

Shion rises, a melancholy smile growing on his wrinkled face as he reaches over and ruffles Mu’s hair for the last time.

“I’m sure we’ll meet again in the next life, Mu.”

* * *

In younger days, Shion not only walked all way to Star Hill; he also made the climb every time instead of relying on something like teleportation to bypass it. It often resulted in dirty, sometimes torn robes (much to the frustration of his tailors) but he stuck with it, maintaining the habit until his body had become too old and worn to continue climbing anymore.

Until recent days, there hasn’t been much need to visit the place, the lone pillar with its small shrine at the top, usually used for scrying the stars, to divine matters such as narrowing down where Athena would be reborn in mortal flesh and when, or seeking ancient knowledge lost to humanity, that sort of thing. Results varied wildly, from Popes who had clear, succinct visions to ones who could barely access the stars and of course those in between. He’s no gifted seer or oracle but Shion feels he’s at least been moderately successful at divining the stars.

Stepping inside the shrine, it doesn’t take long to reach the sanctum. Typically, there’d be a small altar set up, the space cleansed physically and spiritually before an idol of the god was installed within. It would be a home away from home, for times of worship and festival.

That wasn’t the case with the Star Shrine.

Instead, the space of the sanctum is empty, the floor isn’t even tiled, instead being rough stone from the local quarry that had been sanded down to a smooth surface. The only instances of any decoration are on the inner walls, adorned with old frescoes depicting Asteria and Urania. Looking upon them as best he can in the darkness, Shion wonders if they can be restored.

The other decorative feature in the shrine is above him, a space on the roof having been cut to make space for panels of glass, crafted to magnify the night sky for anyone gazing up beneath them. That said, it didn’t make for the best telescope, its primary function to assist in star scrying with astronomy as a secondary concern. This isn’t a problem; he’s not here to study the dance of heavenly bodies.

Carefully, gingerly, he kneels, feeling his bones and muscles protest as he sits on his knees, a sardonic smile forming on his lips as he reflects that this would be the one time he wouldn’t be feeling the pain later. The smile fades as he lifts his head up to the sky, purging his mind of all thoughts to better focus on the scrying, a golden corona surrounding him as he burns his cosmos, feeling it wrap around him with heat and light.

He, or perhaps his consciousness, dives into his own universe, then past it, and before he can properly react to the disembodied feeling he’s already there, floating among the stars and planets in the cosmic abyss. What he sees is an image, doubled over on itself: there is Space as it actually appears in reality, cold, dark and devoid of color save for the few objects that have it. At the same time, it appears just as people imagine it and more besides: Color blooms as smoke and clouds from nebulas in many hues, perhaps even more than he can see with human eyes. Describing it is challenging and he feels his vocabulary insufficient for the task… but if Shion had to put it into words, floating in the primordial sea of Nun, or Chaos, or the mingling waters of Apsu and Tiamat.

This was likely the closest any human would get to such an experience.

He shakes off these thoughts and focuses on his dive, all the stars and planets around him floating amidst a fog of images, a mosaic of a billion potential futures in a multitude of universes and timelines. On some other occasion and perhaps with more knowledge, he would have explored these stories, functionally the same but with alterations of their own making.

But he’s out of time, and these musings are of no relevance at this moment.

There’s no sense of time in this state but the current he’s in eventually opens out into a river mouth, a crossroads in the star-dusted expanse of time and space. Shion pauses, letting himself drift as he considers which current to follow.

 _From lit to void, these are the futures you can divine_ , a line from an old text crosses his mind. The current with the most light--from stars, nebulas, planets or moons--was for learning the approximate future, the rest gradually getting darker the farther you wanted to go. Shion’s barely drifted in place for a few moments before he picks a current to pull him in.

A river-sea of images leaps out at him amidst rapids while he keeps his will focused against the current. He can’t lose sight of himself and his question, lest he be swept away into a broader picture than the one he seeks.

_Will Athena live after I am gone? Will she save Sanctuary?_

Gradually, he feels the current’s pull weaken, slowing down. Without context, he finds it difficult to comprehend some of the answers he’s presented: fighters grappling under harsh lights, boys forced into a life they likely never wanted, at least a hundred of them… Only ten will make it back.

An elusive darkness seems to wrap around one of them, of him and yet not, mingling with the dazzling light of a whirlpool. He’d look into it further if not for the feeling of shadows above him, the pope just making out the blurred shape of a winged horse.

After many centuries, Pegasus will be worn once more. Would it be a special case like Tenma, another demigod stepping forward to be tested by the Cloth or would this next wearer have more humble origins?

He doesn’t get his answer, distracted as other shapes and lights join the pegasus: dragon, phoenix, swan, a maiden in chains. And behind them, the warmest light, enveloping them in its embrace…

_Athe--!_

Everything goes black.

He’s aware of two things: the hollow sound of metal striking stone and the thin cord around his neck, pulling tightly against his windpipe. Naturally, he struggles, tries to slip his hand between himself and the cord for breathing room but then a foot plants down on his back, forcing him to bend over. As Shion pushes back, he hears it--

“Looks like you won’t be disciplining me after all, Your Holiness.”

The end is upon him, yet the old man lets out a croaked laugh. “That’s it? _That’s_ why--”

“No,” there is a tone of finality in the boy’s voice as he crosses the ends of the silken garrote along the back of Shion’s neck. “Why? Why did you choose Aiolos when you knew I was more qualified to lead?”

 _Because I sense the darkness in you. Because you haven’t learned to temper your demons._ _Because…_

It’s getting harder to think as well as breathe while the struggle continues. He’s faintly aware of Saga struggling too, though he can’t say if it’s only against him.

“Athena won’t help us in future battles. She’s too soft, too willing to play diplomat when that just makes it worse. No, we need someone with a harder, crueler heart to lead the charge against the Three Brothers, Shion.”

“And...you’re saying...that’s you…” He gasps out before Saga presses down on his back, forcing him lower.

“You’ve sensed my darkness, Shion. Who else _but_ me?” Pause. “Still… I’m sorry it had to end this way.”

There’s no response from Shion, more focused on the fight for his dwindling life now but also, how do you respond to that when the speaker is trying to kill you in cold blood? What’s more…

 _He’s sincere_ , the old man realizes as light and color are fading. If he means to say anything, it never comes, his waning focus on the one, new thing that stands out clearly even though the rest is blurring.

He hears the sharp, loud crack of snapping bone, the bloom of pain flowering out from his spine but it all seems so far away as he watches Thanatos approach. For Saga, the God is not there: not seen, not heard, not felt. But then, Thanatos didn’t come for Saga’s soul tonight.

“You… You _will_ be stopped. You will...face justice.” And that’s when Saga pulls both ends tight and Thanatos kisses his lips.

Saga hears wind blowing into the Star Shrine as he feels the body go limp but he pays it little mind as he releases the garrote, faintly aware of flesh hitting stone while he gazes upon his hands.

There was blood on them now, and Shion’s last words echo throughout his mind, somehow getting louder with each intonation.

_“You will face justice.”_

“Perhaps it will happen… Perhaps it won’t,” Saga murmurs as he kneels down to pick up the helmet and mask, the latter having snapped off in the fall. Either way…

“Let them come.”


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle is over, and cleanup begins. First step: Get the cloths to Jamir and repair them. Also, some cloths can be total divas.

“I suppose being able to communicate with the Cloths somewhat beats out a checklist… But I would still like one,” Shion mutters aloud as he looks upon all the cloths he’s managed to recover. The number was higher than he had estimated but there were still many unaccounted for, either from the most recent Holy War or because their wearers had perished in other places that weren’t this battlefield. He’s combed the area many times over and nothing new has turned up. So that part is done at least.

Now for the harder part.

It’s the first time he’s doing this, so he’s not entirely certain of the odds of success or what all could happen. At any rate, all the cloths Shion’s found are in their respective boxes, tightly packed together in a grid. Sunlight glints off the metal, and would likely blind anyone if it was brighter right now. The chatter trickling into his thoughts wouldn’t be too different from a hospital bay: there’s only the pained groans and cries from the cloths, all clamoring for healing, for relief.

“Quiet down; I’m getting to it.” He replies, not bothering to reflect that to anyone else if present, it looks like he’s talking to himself. The Aries Saint seats himself not too far from the grid, one leg propped over the other as he concentrates, a halo of golden light slowly enveloping him as he burns his cosmos. His eyes are closed but he can feel the stream of energy trickling into the earth beneath him, passing through packed dirt, soil and stone. It is only a trickle, water from a plugged-up spring, and yet he sees it spread outward from where it started. Ultimately, the whole battlefield is soon flooded in his cosmos.

_Revitalize. Return to a liquid state._

Spread out along the field, the pool becomes a net of tight weave, tendrils reaching out every which direction while catching every remnant of spilled blood it can find, then dragging them inward to the center. Dry turns to wet as the light touches it, and likely is also drawing in every microscopic component of iron from the earth itself, draining out the rest like a sieve.

Light begins to rise out of the ground, turned into smoky tendrils reminiscent of steam as it seems to gather at a single point right over the grid. Shion doesn’t notice, too entrenched in his focus. He feels he can’t overlook even a single iota of the field, that he must salvage all the blood he can. Saint, Specter, God… It doesn’t matter where it comes from because in the end, blood is blood.

Wisps of cloud quickly gather into a thunderhead and he’s faintly aware of a shadow falling over him but he doesn’t let it disturb him from bringing in his harvest, slowly dragging the net towards the center. He’s feeling the heat now, in him, around him… but he can’t open the floodgates just yet.

A large cloud now hovers above the cloth-grid, spread out far enough that Shion will be caught in its rainfall once he lets go. Even so, it’s still tightly packed together, wreathed in his cosmos though the cloud itself is dark, almost black. Whether that’s due to what it carries or just a random side effect is unknown, nor was there time to ponder at it.

_Just a bit more. Nearly there…_

Keeping the cloud from bursting is starting to show. He feels cramped and stretched out too far all at once, constantly being filled with substance even though he’s certain it’s going to overflow any moment now. Shion even feels it affecting him physically, his body slowly leaning over and stretching out over himself as if to ease the pressure, his face practically in the dirt. But finally, finally, he’s drawn the net out from the ground, and its catch with it. Once the last tendrils of light have been absorbed into the cloud, Shion lets go.

It starts light, barely feeling it strike his body as he raises himself, slowly stretching out one leg, then the other to avoid cramping. Like the sudden downpour it was meant to emulate, the rainfall of blood hits harder, faster; soon it’s just the constant sound of droplets striking metal as blood gradually fills in the cloth boxes. Blood gets on his hair, his clothes, his skin but at this point he’s past caring, letting himself fall back on the ground as the rain comes down in a torrent.

He’s going to need some time to recover before the next step.

* * *

When he comes to, the cloud is gone and the cloths are soaking in a bloodbath within the boxes. The blood staining him is starting to cake and dry but Shion ignores that as he rises to inspect his work. It’s a little spotty; the fluid level in some boxes is higher than others and despite his attention to detail some of it still fell on the ground surrounding the grid. Maybe digging a deep trench first would have mitigated that?

On top of that, the blood he harvested isn’t the ideal quality; it’s not freshly spilled and somewhat diluted because it’s the collected blood of many rather than the one. Of course, the Aries saint isn’t certain if there’s a precedent for this situation of having to heal so many cloths at a time.

Still, it seems to be working: the cries of pain have abated, dying into a sleepy murmur as the cloths settle in their baths. The plan is to let them soak in the blood for a while before he actually starts repairs. In the meantime…

He needs to get them to Jamir, specifically to the spire’s vault. Of course, despite the name it’s less of a vault and more just a natural freezer, an underground chamber hollowed out by the winds that occasionally howled into it through scattered drafts and the rare occasions when ice thawed. The chamber isn’t completely sealed in either; there was an opening leading further into the cave system it was connected to if you knew where to look. Ultimately, it would serve well for the intended purpose of keeping the blood from spoiling.

The main problem is getting all of the cloths to the spire, specifically the vault, in one go. Atla, had he still retained his powers, would probably have done this without needing to channel his cosmos and not breaking a sweat in the process. He had been that much of a psychic savant among their people.

Shion, not so much.

Yes, according to the standards of his people, he had shown incredible ability with his psychic powers but he had never tried to teleport so many objects plus himself at once. So much could go wrong here--  
  
 _No, better not to think about it; I’d just get more anxious. Breathe… Calm… Focus…_ He repeats it to himself as much as he needs to, feeling his mind smoothing out into a mellow, fog-like haze while his body relaxes. He waits for a bit, mainly to confirm it’s not a passing feeling, that it’s there to linger for what he needs to do.

He burns his cosmos, not confident in the sole use of his psychic powers to manage the warp. As the corona of light wrapped around him blazes with heat and light, he focuses his thoughts on Jamir. In his mind, he sees the village, the residents going about their usual business: tending to plants and livestock, what little can survive in the heights, teaching the young what they’ll need to know about the world and surviving in it, others going off to forage and hunt in the wilderness…

_Narrow it._

The aura of power surrounding him spikes up as he moves past the village, to a tall spire a bit past the outskirts. It’s seen better days and repairs will have to be made sooner or later. At least there would be plenty of stone to work with, given where it was. Briefly, there is the thought to make some alterations in the rebuilding but it will have to wait for another time.

_More._

Now he pictures the interior of the spire itself, along with everything in it. The living quarters, the armory, which was adjacent to the workshop, the room of the Star Forge a bit past them. Depending on how many are living in the spire at a time, higher floors were occasionally modified into extra bedrooms and so on if there was no space in the living quarters’ floor.

_Lower._

Into the depths, the innards of the peak the spire sat on. There is only cold stone and a little snow or ice around him, the walls of rock cut and carved into more for function than aesthetic, hence the rough, unhewn look. But this is the place he wants. Burning his cosmos even more, Shion’s eyes snap open. Barely instants later, the battlefield is empty.

“Come on Leif, hurry up,” Mirkha calls down to her companion from her higher position on the mountain incline. “I’d rather we indulge the old crone quickly so I can get back to what I was doing earlier,” she adds as she pushes back a thick lock of hair to tuck behind her ear, only for it to fall over and cover her left eye in its usual persistent fashion. Her remark only earns her a snort from her companion, focused more on the climb than their conversation,

“You just want to get back to primping yourself and looking even prettier than you already are; you _do_ know Old Tara only singled you out because you weren’t busy, right?” There was a pause as Leif power-walked up the incline towards Mirkha, not stopping until he stood beside her. After a few seconds of catching his breath, he went on,

“Besides, you shouldn’t call her that; it’s rude.”

Mirkha shrugged in response, casually flipping her hair off of her shoulders before turning around to resume the climb,

“Is it that rude to state the truth? She’s the oldest in the village. Actually, ‘crone’ might be an understatement… Anyway, let’s just keep moving. She just wanted us to look into what’s going on at the spire, right?”

“Yeah, and that we were to be thorough about it; she said she’d know right off if we weren’t.” Nor had the old woman bothered to elaborate on how she would know if they shirked their errand. Perhaps reading their minds in spite of any efforts at blocking her? At any rate, Leif knew better than to give Old Tara a hard time, and he knew Mirkha was the same, despite her bluster and seeming indifference.

“C’mon, we’re almost there,” he told her, turning to look ahead and see the spire looming closer as they moved towards it. Save for sections that were already destroyed, the bridge across the ravine was still mostly intact but the attack from the specters had done a number on it. The stone bridge wasn’t as solid as it once was, and the two Muvian youths wasted little time crossing it, keeping their steps light so as not to aggravate its weakening structure and supports with added weight. From there it was simply a few more steps and they’d be at the spire.

Upon reaching the entrance, Mirkha stopped, glancing towards her companion through the gray eye, iris shot through with blue accents, that wasn’t covered by her thick, wavy mane of rose red. Leif didn’t have to wait long to find out why:

“So how are we doing this? Explore each floor and room together or split up? I mean, it’s not a huge or overly complex building but Old Tara seemed to be rushing us.”

“True. I say we split up; if there’s something inside like she says, we’re bound to come across it at some point.”

“Right. Now that it’s settled, I’m taking the bottom half.” Leif rolled his eyes at this but did not object. Sure, she only took it because she’d have less places to search but at least Mirkha was doing _something_. Satisfied with that, he followed her in, his braided silver hair ruffled by a breeze blowing past. Once inside, both split up to search their respective sections of the building.

He starts on the floor above the ground one, carefully combing each room he comes across. There were signs of habitation but dust was starting to collect in places, cues that the place had been empty for some time now if not outright abandoned. Ultimately, nothing turns up on this floor and Leif moves on to the next one.

It’s in this floor where the magic happens, or so he had been told. Sure enough, he can see that he’s approaching the workshop, with the armory adjacent to it and the smithy past them. According to old rumors and stories, one of the last remnants of the old Muvian civilization is contained within. There is a brief moment of distraction as Leif tries to envision it, the smithy alive with activity with assistants working the Star Forge while the master smith shaped the metal according to his or her vision. Supposedly, the first works of metallurgy drawn from the Star Forge had been made out of the ore from fallen stars.

He shakes the thoughts and their images away, refocusing on his search. He decides to start with the armory and see where things go from there. It’s not a very big room but from how it had been optimized for as much storage space they could get out of it, there’s more places to investigate and look through than Leif expected. He’s not certain if he’s even investigated half of the room and its contents when suddenly Mirkha’s voice echoes through his mind, louder than warning bells,

" ** _Leif! Come quick, I found something, I mean, someone! He’s living dead weight and I can’t carry him by myself!”_**

* * *

When he wakes up, the sight greeting his eyes once all blurs into focus is not the stalactite-covered ceiling of the vault but a white, domed one. The next thing he’s aware of is the smell of food coming from somewhere else, probably in the same general vicinity of this room. Shion sits up with a groan, looking at his surroundings. It’s been a while so it takes a bit for recognition to settle but eventually…

“Old Mother?”

The response comes back quickly, calling to him,

“In the kitchen; I won’t let you have anything until you wash up, however!”

That was typical enough for the old woman, and after looking around a bit more, he finds a spare change of clothes. It’s possible they might be his own from whatever’s left in the spire but it’s much more likely that they were lent by another villager or left over from when the woman’s husband still lived. Picking up the bundle of clothes and tucking it beneath one arm, Shion leaves the room, then the house altogether.

He’s not getting as many weird looks as he anticipated what with still being covered in dried blood and wearing bloodstained clothing but then, all that excitement would have happened whenever he had been brought in. Occasionally returning a greeting when one was given, the Aries Saint heads for the communal baths, which are set up in a large cavern within walking distance of the village. Over time, people had set up private bathrooms within their own homes but many still went to the caverns, to soak in the carved pools filled with water fed from natural hot springs or scrub off the dirt with soap and pumice before pouring water on themselves before the soak. In an instance that some cultures would find odd, social gatherings were frequent here, happening as often as any in the village square.

Upon entering the cavern, he sees there aren’t many bathers in right now but moves on anyway, collecting a bucket, pumice stone and a round ball of soap. After shedding his clothes, he rinses, repeating more than once to ensure he’s thoroughly soaked before starting to clean himself. With the combined aid of pumice and soap, he scrubs off the blood and dirt, gradually shedding what feels like layers of grime off of his body. Whatever’s left of the soap he simply crushes and uses the resulting lather to work on his hair. Somehow, it turns out to be enough, a surprising thing given how thick his hair is.

A short while later, he’s walking back to the elder’s house, dressed in his borrowed clothes and his damp hair significantly flattened by the water. He’s carrying his original change of clothes with him; at some point he will have to wash them but it doesn’t seem like that will be happening today. In any case, he soon returns to Old Tara’s house, laying his clothes aside to help her serve the meal for two: it’s soup, a variety of vegetables and herbs added in to help flavor the soup bones and meat that is the main ingredient. It’s the kind of cooking he hasn’t had in a while, that he figured he’d never taste again because he had gone off to war certain he wouldn’t be returning.

Life, and Fate for that matter, work in strange ways.

For a while, there’s no conversation, the Aries Saint mainly focused on filling his belly while the elder woman paces herself with her own feeding. It’s around the second helping that the pangs lessen and Shion finally pops the question:  
  
"How did you know?”  
  
Tara found a piece of vegetable--it might have been bok choy, or perhaps radish?--and ate it, making sure to chew and swallow before she answers him.

“I sensed a surge of power coming from the spire. Seemed odd considering it was supposed to be empty, so I sent some youngsters to take a look.” A pause as she looks him over, not unlike a concerned mother. “So… it is over, then.”

“It is. As you’ve likely already realized, some of ours survived but--”

“No powers. Pyschic capability stripped away from those who had it from birth, and their cosmos burns too low and dim for the likes of the saints.” Pause. “A sad turn of events but it was unavoidable, wasn’t it?”

Shion’s silence says everything, and Tara doesn’t press the issue further, instead choosing to change the subject,

“So what brings you home, Aries Shion?”

The answer doesn’t come right away, the other participant distracted by food. She doesn't have to wait very long, though,

“Mainly it’s repairing the cloths I was able to recover. After that… After that, I must leave for Sanctuary.” To rebuild, recall the non-saint soldiers that had been sent away days before the war began, to restore order to the chaos and ensure the system still works so it can keep running in the days to come.

“I figured as much. Still, you’re welcome to visit or stay in the village if the spire proves too stifling in its silence and emptiness.”

“That… Thank you, Old Mother.”

* * *

After the meal, he helps her clean up. In fact, he tries to do it all himself but Tara refuses to let him fuss over her. Once everything is cleaned and put away, he bids her farewell and teleports to the spire. Since there was no clear destination within it in mind, Shion predictably winds up in his own bedroom. It’s about the same as he left it, though it was probably in need of some cleaning. Likely the whole spire was in need of cleaning, among other things.

All of that could wait until morning, however. It’s still early in the day but the lull of sleep drags at him in spite of that. Very likely a combination of what he did earlier and a heavy meal is the culprit here. He should probably be more productive and get started on cleaning or at least going down to the vault to assess the condition of the Cloths. Do something, anything.

It is a valiant struggle but Sleep wins out eventually.

The body loses tension, breaths slow and settle into a steady cadence of rise and fall of the chest. There is the feel and sound of the mountain wind, a comfortable white noise to help him settle further into sleep.

For a time, there is nothing, only the promise of rest that Hypnos gives the world.

Gradually, color creeps in, then shape, ultimately forming an exaggerated tableaux of memory: the glint of armor that seems cut and crafted from black diamond, the flashes of light in the sky of falling stars, a ship out of the age of myth that wouldn’t show itself again anytime soon.

Running. Leaping. Fighting. Sometimes it is elegant and polished, close to the ideal men picture. Other times it is a rough, primal melee where the focus is on survival and letting instincts guide you to victory. The smell of blood, smoke, ozone… It’s all around him but there’s no place to hide in or retreat to.

Something splits the ground open with a crack behind him but he keeps moving, not even looking back. He’s aware of the sound of something heavy impacting the ground not far behind him but his eyes are only for what’s ahead, one hand reaching out to block an incoming fist. Another crack, that of bone as he crushes the fist in his palm--

Shion wakes up in a cold sweat, breathing hard, eyes wide open, fight-or-flight instincts on full alert until it registers that he’s in his room in the spire, had been there the whole time. Barely waiting for his pulse to slow and his heart to steady, he leaps off the bed and goes to track down the cleaning supplies.

Hair pulled back into a thick knot to keep out of his face, Shion starts with the dusting and sweeping, dumping what he gathers in a sack. He’s thorough with each floor, from the level of his room to the top, then once more from there to the ground floor. It only expends more energy but he makes sure to do it twice before sealing the sack and placing it elsewhere. He’ll dump it when he’s done cleaning.

Top to bottom, bottom to top, no hallway, no room, not even nooks and crannies are spared. By the time he finishes, it’s hours into the morning, the sky lighter than the pitch black he had fallen asleep to. There’s the thought to push on, get to working on the cloths while he’s still awake even as he feels the adrenaline bleeding out. Stubborn as he is, it’s clear to him that in this state he can’t repair the cloths without _something_ going wrong in the process.

Ultimately, it’s a compromise: setting up the materials and tools he needs in the smithy along with teleporting one of the cloths from the vault to said room. There’s not enough focus to actually pick one out so the choice is random and arbitrary: Camelopardalis.

With that, Shion leaves the cloth to thaw out within its box and heads back to his room.

* * *

He wakes later in the day, perhaps not fully rested but in much better shape than before. He could visit the village for a quick meal but decides it can wait a while longer, instead heading up to the workshop floor to check on Camelopardalis. Shion cracks open the box immediately upon reaching it, watching as the sides fall to the floor to reveal the cloth. Since no thawed-out blood comes flooding out when he does so, it can only mean that Camelopardalis has consumed it all and simply waits to be repaired. A good sign.  
  
Rather than getting to work immediately, the Aries Saint assesses the cloth, to better determine how to best repair it, and perhaps make notes for modifications, if needed. Repair was the main priority right now, and the most crucial.  
  
The Holy War had been rough on everyone and everything but Camelopardalis seems to have weathered it well enough, certainly better than some he can think of still lying stored in the vault. Absorbing the blood had kick-started the Cloth’s natural healing processes so it was very likely that a bit of the damage had healed away overnight. Still…

He reaches for the stardust, grabbing a fistful of the glimmering substance before gently sprinkling it over the cloth. A breeze blows in through one of the windows but instead of scattering all over, the dust seems to bond to the metal. When his hand is empty, he grabs another and repeats the process, Camelopardalis soon practically covered in stardust. After that, he carefully tosses flakes of tin and copper over the statue, which immediately bond with the stardust.

 From there it becomes a simple task of using the right tools to fix a particular injury, as well as collecting excess material. Originally, all was quiet but he soon starts to hear a familiar chatter as the cloth starts to rouse itself from recuperative sleep…

 “What about the sun?”, Shion inquires as he carefully hammers out a dent. It doesn’t take long for Camelopardalis to answer. The response comes in the hum of its namesake but he understands all the same.

 “Oh, you want to bathe in its light and heat. And for that you want to go to… Africa.” Pause. “Mount Kilimanjaro. You know that’s three volcanos, right?”

 The humming is more insistent, almost annoyed. He can hear practically hear the _“so?”_ in it.

 “I could simply toss you in Kibo’s summit and it wouldn’t make much of a difference whether you bathe in the heat of the sun or not.”

 The humming is louder, persistent. If it could be a real giraffe, Camelopardalis would likely be pawing at the ground in growing irritation, perhaps even try to smash into him with its powerful neck to knock him over if Shion keeps poking at it.

 “That’s not the heat you want. I’ll see what I can do but I can make no promises… Do we even _have_ any locations in that part of Africa?” Instantly, he feels the bad mood melt away in its voice, the humming now quiet and almost absent minded, as if the cloth is losing itself in its own thoughts, whatever they might be. Shion simply goes back to his work, both quiet for a long while before he hears the humming again; this time, Camelopardalis is prodding at him on a less important matter.

 Sigh. “I could cut lines in such a pattern but you _do_ realize there’s more than one species of you? They don’t all look the same.”

 All he gets is loud, almost whiny, humming.

* * *

With most of the cloths that follow, it’s more of the same; there’s light chatter, and an expressed wish for home. One cloth rumbles for the waterfalls of Lu Shan while another trumpets to be caged in the icy wastes of Siberia. According to old records, this had happened frequently, though apparently they didn’t seem to venture beyond a certain distance of where they liked to ‘roost’. In any case, he makes a point of writing it down at the end of the day when he’s done with repairing cloths. At times, he takes his meals in the spire but more often, he wanders down to the village to be among people. Typically he shares dinner with Old Mother Tara but other times he’s invited to join other families.

This is the established routine for the time being: rising before the sun, a light but energizing meal, and then getting to work on the repairs for most of the day until early evening when Shion calls it a day.

 In the meantime…

The young man has come a long way from where he set out, a sunny country in the west. Now, he stands on the precipice that overlooks the thundering waterfall of Lu Shan. If he had the time, he’d lengthen his stay to admire its beauty and all the rest a while longer but that’s not why he’s here.

“Dilios sent me to find survivors, said that at least one of them would be taking over as Pope of the Sanctuary and to give them the message I’m carrying.” A pause as he looks to the man beside him, sitting at the cliff edge in meditation. “Sir Dohko, if you’re not the chosen Pope, who is?”

“The man you want is in the mountains, Belen.” And before Belen can press for details, he goes on,

“You’ll want to head west for the Indochina region. Knowing Shion, he’s likely in Jamir and repairing the cloths he’s managed to recover.”

Belen nods, recognizing the name. He had never been but anyone affiliated with the saints would know of this village with its small population of Muvians. Likely they weren’t the only ones but the locations of other Muvian settlements seem to be a closely guarded secret kept by them and theirs. Still, there is one issue:

“How do I reach Jamir?”

Some weeks later, he reaches the village. The reception is lukewarm but whatever their attitudes to outsiders they still welcome him and point the way to the house of the village elder. Belen’s initial impression of Tara brings back thoughts of home, particularly his old grandmother back in Rodorio. She treats him about the same, insisting that he eat well before he moves on to the spire if he’s not going to rest.

A while later, he’s headed for the spire, a boy named Leif coming along to be his guide and also help him access the building, since while it has a door there are no stairs, and no one in the village can tell him whether that was an oversight because of their psychic abilities or just plain laziness. A bit annoying but what can you do?

“Do you know him well?”, he asks Leif while they trek along the mountain trail going from the village to the spire, mainly to fill the emptiness with conversation.

“Not particularly. I mean, two nights ago he did accept my family’s invitation to dinner but he seems to be focusing on his work and not going out of his way to be social. At the same time, I’m pretty sure he’s grateful for the company and noise, since he’s always coming down to the village in the evenings.”

“I guess that would make sense, given that we’ve just come out of a war not too long ago. Sir Dohko did warn me that he’d probably be busy too.” Pause. “Have you been able to make anything of him in spite of this, Leif?”

There was no response right away, the boy apparently pondering on the question for a bit before giving his answer,

“He’s kind, and I suspect he’s warmer than he appears but he’s also not really letting anyone in right now, except for perhaps Old Mother Tara. Then again, I heard she raised him before he joined the Saints so that would explain it.” He briefly halts the conversation to look ahead, trying to gauge their distance from their current position to the spire higher up.

“Still a bit of a climb but we’ll be there soon.”

* * *

 “Yes, you’re functionally immortal but you still need repairs, damnable bird!”

The scene that greets Belen and Leif’s eyes is a strange one: Shion yelling at the Phoenix Cloth while the latter fights a futile battle to shake off the stardust and various other materials off itself by way of thrumming vibrations. And presumably because Cloth repair takes full focus and concentration, Shion hasn’t noticed them yet. After a few seconds of this, Belen slowly looks over to Leif and points a finger towards his head before swirling it about in revolutions with a questioning air. The Muvian teen doesn’t get it at first, then the question sinks in.

“No, I’m pretty sure he hasn’t gone mad, Belen.”

“Then why…?”

“From what I’ve heard about Sir Shion, he was born with the rare ability to communicate with the Cloths. That’s likely what’s happening now.” Pause. “Sounds like a one-sided argument, really.” As if to prove his point,

“You’re just a glorified peacock that’s always on fire!”

Belen glances over to Leif,

“Perhaps we should come back later.”

“I’m not sure there’s any point in that,” Leif replies with a shake of his head. “We’ll probably find him exactly like this the next time around; better to get it over with.” And before Belen can raise further objections, Leif pushes the door open a bit more before poking his head in and addressing Shion, voice raised to better grab his attention:

“Sir Shion!”

Unsurprisingly, this led to Shion losing the battle of wills against Phoenix Cloth, the latter quickly escaping back into its cloth box and leaving a mess of stardust, tin and copper flakes, and all the various other materials left over from mid-repair. Naturally, the expression he leveled their way was not a happy one.

“Yes, Leif?”

Noting how it seemed to be just a few notches short of a glare, the teenager wasted little time getting to the point,

“Someone from Sanctuary came to see you. I guided him to the spire on the Old Mother’s request.” And here Belen steps forward, careful not to tread upon any of the scattered materials and components as he produced the letter from within his cloak. There’s no proper envelope, instead being paper that was folded in thirds and sealed closed with a wax seal emblazoned with the image of the aegis and the head of the dead gorgon it carried, with long spears crossed over each other behind it.

“My name is Belen and I was sent by Dilios of the Sanctuary Guard to deliver this to the new Pope.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's quite a bit of worldbuilding in this chapter, mainly focused on the Muvians. So for anyone who's wanted more details on these guys, here's my thoughts on them, which I will elaborate more on as I continue the story.


End file.
